


Without Precision

by glimmerglanger



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Berserkers, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, M/M, Other pairings are in the background only, Pre-movie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 15:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Asgard and the Nine Realms knew mostly peace throughout Thor’s childhood. They had thousands of years unbroken by battle, with only the tales of past renown and great deeds to tide them over, filling their minds with dreams and hopes, with only hours spent in the training yards to sharpen their skills.But peace never lasted.





	Without Precision

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's mostly done with their thorki bigbang fic? It's me! Which means I got to finish this fic that I've been messing with forever.

Asgard and the Nine Realms knew mostly peace throughout Thor’s childhood. They had thousands of years unbroken by battle, with only the tales of past renown and great deeds to tide them over, filling their minds with dreams and hopes, with only hours spent in the training yards to sharpen their skills.

But peace never lasted. It fractured and broke in the years that Thor grew to a man. The first attacks by a fleet of brigands came on worlds far distant, on the outskirts of the Nine Realms, on planets only connected to Asgard with the briefest of diplomatic ties.

Odin sent soldiers out anyway, a legion of them, on the reasoning the maintaining the peace before it could break completely would be easier than rebuilding it from scratch. And so Thor went to war, with his people, his friends, and his brother.

He smiled at Loki, wildly, when they stood on the rainbow bridge beside Heimdall, on a clear morning, with ranks of soldiers standing at their backs. Loki looked yet young, beardless beside him, wearing the armor of a sorcerer. But he smiled back, and Thor felt his pulse jump in his chest.

They had ever imagined the dawn of this day in their childhood, making up stories to entertain one another. And finally, finally, it arrived. Thor was still smiling when Heimdall moved them from Asgard and across the expanse of stars.

#

Thor’s smile did not last, not on the battlefield. He had fought throughout much of his life, but only in play battles. It was different to face forces who wished nothing more than to kill him, as quickly and brutally as they could.

The battle made no sense. They had planned, but all plans fled Thor’s mind as he swung Mjolnir. The only thing that really mattered, truly, was staying alive and keeping as many of his fellows alive as he could.

It proved difficult. He could only control so much of the battle, even calling a storm overhead and bringing down lightning. Their lines would have broken, he saw, over and over again, had they not the sorcerers at their back, splitting the earth, bringing up fire and ice, decimating those who came against them.

They won a victory on a world with a name Thor could not remember by the end of the fight. He sagged, exhausted, breathing hard, looking across the fallen and seeing both Aesir and a people he did not know, all fallen together.

“Thor!” Loki called, picking his way across the fallen, unharmed and hale and whole. There was a wave of strange, sick relief through Thor’s chest, such as he’d never felt before in his life. He had seen too many people fall, broken, to do anything but pull Loki close when he came within arm’s reach. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Thor said, leaning some of his weight onto Loki and considering, as he gazed out across the field, that this was little like the stories they’d told one another in stolen moments.

#

They feasted, after the battle. It was only traditional to return to Asgard’s great halls to find tables laden heavy with food and drink, with music dancing through the air, almost blotted out by the noise of bragging and laughter.

Thor near fell into his seat, struck between the shoulders as he sat by Volstagg. He laughed, grabbing the nearest flagon of mead before it overbalanced. Already the hall was alive with laughter and stories, though Fandral shouted them all down, motioning to Thor, calling, “And let us not forget the dozens struck down by Thor Odinson.”

Thor beamed, standing again to a mixture of applause and laughter, thinking of the dead laid out before him, struck down by his hammer, and thinking, also, of those who had choked and suffocated on nothing in far greater numbers, courtesy of a twist of Loki’s hand.

But it was difficult to make his tongue form those words, to direct the praise down the table, where Loki sat watching the proceedings with his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed. Thor swallowed, resolving to call Loki to him, when Loki stood in a smooth movement and turned from the hall, leaving before the festivities could truly begin.

Thor frowned after him, ignoring Fandral’s called question at his back when he made his way through the crowd, out of the door, and into the hallway beyond.

He just caught sight of Loki, disappearing around a corner. Thor cursed under his breath and hurried after him, catching up before Loki could make his way hidden into the night. “Where are you going?” Thor demanded, drawing even with Loki. “You’re missing the party.”

Loki snorted, cutting him a glance. “It isn’t a party for me,” he said, airy.

“It is,” Thor protested, following along as Loki led them through halls and down staircases, towards the borders of the palace. “You fought as well, come back, drink with us.”

“You know I care little for mead,” Loki said, shouldering open a door to one of the eastern courtyards. “Go and drink, let me not disturb you.”

Thor frowned, following him onward, out through the hedges and flowering plants in the garden, their perfume over-sweet in the night air. It was a peaceful night. Quiet except for their voices, with nothing but the clear, sharp light of the stars to illuminate the way. “I can’t return without you,” he said, for it had become a challenge and he hated to be thwarted. “Where are you going?”

Loki sighed; Thor knew he rolled his eyes without having to see it. “Somewhere quiet,” he said. “You won’t like it.”

“I like quiet,” Thor protested, and Loki laughed at him, but did not try to dismiss him again. They traveled out through the city, down streets that Thor barely recalled walking in the past, though he could not remember where they went. He found himself content, as they traveled further from the palace, to merely follow along, the tension that the battle had left within him slowly fading away.

“Ah,” Loki said, turning abruptly down an alley, ducking beneath a half-fallen passage, into a dark space beyond. “Here we are.”

Thor shrugged and followed him, shoulders brushing against fallen stonework. The room beyond was dimly lit, an old tower, long abandoned by the look of things. There were… objects, here and there. A few chairs. Some long sticks. A shield.

Thor straightened, some memory prodding at him from beneath the haze of the mead. “Loki,” he said. “We used to play here.” He smiled, recollections filtering back into his mind, long forgotten over the years.

“We did,” Loki said. He moved over to the stairs; they were in terrible repair, they had dared one another to climb them, as children. At the top was an airy chamber, open to the elements as the walls came down. “I never stopped coming here,” Loki continued, mounting the stairs.

Thor followed him, frowning. “What? Why? Did you play at soldiers by yourself?” They had often made believe that they were reenacting the great battles of Asgard-past, placing themselves in the roles of heroes long dead. “Do you remember when I’d pretend to be a berserker, and you would yell at me for ruining the game?”

Loki froze for a moment, strangely, and then laughed, a bark of sound. He’d reached the top of the stairs. “How could I forget,” he said. “And no, I did not continue to play pretend, I merely liked the quiet.” Reaching the top of the tower felt like stepping back in time. Thor took a breath, turning in a small circle, remembering chasing Loki back and forth across the floor, all the plans they had made. They had not pretended only to be soldiers, Thor remembered. Their imaginations had carried them in all different directions.

He smiled, dragging his fingers across the wall, where they had carved their names. “We used to plan what stars we would visit,” he said, recalling Loki’s patient attempts to teach him their names, when that had never mattered to Thor. He would learn their names when he visited them. What use was it to know what the stars and their planets were called when they were so far away?

“We did.” Loki settled against the wall across the room, leaning back against the brickwork, stretching out his legs. “Funny how we never have.”

“We have time,” Thor said, running his fingers once more over their names. 

“Mm,” Loki said, head tilting to the side. “Perhaps.” His countenance grew more serious, then, all at once. “You did well today.”

Thor snorted, making his way over and settling beside Loki. “So did you,” he said.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Well enough for a sorcerer,” he said, but he leaned his shoulder against Thor’s, so he could not be too angry, truly.

Thor enjoyed the warmth of him. The night had grown chilly around them. He smiled over and down at Loki, memories stirred all to life by their surroundings. “Do you remember,” he said, to change the subject from the fight and Loki’s ill-feelings, “I used to insist I’d marry you.”

Loki laughed, his strange mood passing just like that. He said, “You did, didn’t you? I had forgotten that.”

Thor had not, and wondered, for the moment, why. But the consideration passed quickly as Loki shifted once more, sliding down to lay across the floor, so he could point upwards at the sky. “There’s where we were today,” he said. “Do you see it?”

Thor stared down at him, a strange pressure in his chest, and then looked upwards. “Yes,” he said, with no idea which star Loki pointed at. “I do.”

#

It was some time before they found their way to battle again. And, when they did, they were sent out for a campaign, to clear the brigands utterly from a world they had overrun. They were farewelled far more extensively, since none knew exactly when they would return.

At least they were given long enough for Loki’s strange mood to pass, fading as all of his strange moods ever did. Thor barely remembered the sharp edge to his smile, barely thought of it at all, when they were called off to battle.

The first of their battles unfolded normally enough. The force arrayed against them was poorly trained, though they fought viciously as expected for brigands. Thor smote down those who came against him, charging ahead of the lines; they would surely catch him eventually and he did not fear for his own safety against such opponents as these.

Loki called after him, from somewhere far back, and swore when he went ignored. Thor would apologize later, if necessary, after the fight had ended.

He only realized that he had underestimated the rampaging horde when one of them managed to encircle his wrist with a lash of white light, yanking out hard. Thor snarled - no other Aesir were visible in the surrounding crowd - jerking against the hold, distracted from the other soldiers all around, one of whom slid a blade into the meat of his shoulder.

Thor cried out, more shocked than pained at first. The pain had a strange chill to it, sending tendrils of cold all down his arm. His fingers spasmed open around Mjolnir. The brigand jerked free the blade, raising it again--

And Loki shouted something; Thor could not process the meaning, but he knew Loki’s voice. He knew Loki’s raven-dark hair, appearing from the shadow of another warrior. Loki took in the scene, and Thor expected he would raise his hands, work some magic, give them back the advantage.

He did not.

Instead, his eyes shifted, pupils widening as he gazed across at Thor, expression going still and far away. He reached out, grabbing the wrist of the soldier who had stabbed Thor, yanking the man’s arm down; something cracked. There was a gurgle.

The soldier slid to the ground. Loki ended up with the blade, coated in blood so dark it seemed black. The entire thing took seconds. And then Loki was lunging into the crowd, blade raised, a fierce cry falling off of his lips.

Thor cursed, snatching Mjolnir up with his left hand; he could fight off-handed, when necessary. He struck down those brigands closest to him, taking advantage of their temporary confusion, and then he followed after Loki, who carved a random swathe through them 

It was so unlike him that Thor could not take even joy in the fighting. He usually had no cause to worry for Loki’s safety. Loki knew well-enough to stay out of the reach of his opponents, to strike from a distance, where he might cause destruction without courting injury.

Such was not the case in the following moments, when he butchered his way forward, taking blows here and there, stripping weapons from the fallen, moving onward constantly, like a terrible engine overrunning.

Thor called to lightning, culling what soldiers he could back. His own wound he ignored for the time, cursing and killing and jerking when Sif appeared at his right side, her shield turning aside a blow as she demanded, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Loki?” 

“I don’t know,” Thor admitted, his guts twisting unpleasantly. “Where are the lines?”

“Close.” Sif gestured back. “The force wasn’t as large as we expected. This lot is the last of them,” she said, and even as she did Loki bulled into a soldier, bearing the man to the ground, blade rising and falling once. Thor reached upward, sending lightning through those remaining. He could hear the other Aesir running up at his back, the clinking of their armor sweet music as Loki stood and turned to look at them.

There was nothing in his expression or in his eyes. Nothing at all. Blood splattered across his skin. He took a step towards them, a sword in one hand, an axe in the other. Both were covered in blood and filth. He shifted his grip on the weapons and lunged forwards.

“Thor,” Sif said, shifting her weight. “I--”

“Get the others back,” Thor snapped, stepping in front of her, a terrible suspicion growing in his mind. She turned on her heel, running, and Loki’s gaze snapped to track her. He coiled, long legs tensing; Thor lunged into his path when he sprang forward. He called, “Loki!”

Loki made no response, only raising the axe in his hand. Thor caught his wrist, cursing. The other blade came up; Thor’s right arm would not respond to his commands. He shifted, getting in close, turning his shoulder to block the edge of the blade. 

Close, he could feel how quickly Loki was breathing, the flutter of his pulse in his neck, the huge stretch of his pupils. Loki headbutted him, then, the attack so unexpected that Thor did not think to guard against it. “Loki, you must stop!”

Loki brought his knee up, fast and vicious, yet one more surprise - Loki did not _fight_ \- and that sharp agony tried to curl Thor over at the waist. He went to one knee, nausea crawling up his throat, feeling Loki shift. He looked up, into a rising blade. “It is me, Loki, stop!”

And Loki stopped. He went still, arm raised to swing the blade down, other wrist still caught in Thor’s grip, his eyes wide and dark. He blinked several times in rapid succession, life coming back into his expression as his gaze jerked around, moving from Thor’s face, to the bodies scattered around them, to the sword he held, upraised.

“Thor?” he asked, his voice small. He released the sword and the axe, all at once; they clattered to the ground. He looked down at his body, swaying. “What--what’s happened?”

Thor turned his head and spat on the ground before standing, ignoring the pain still radiating up into his gut. Curse Loki’s bony knees, anyway. “It’s alright,” Thor said, though Loki did not look alright, all the color fled from his face, his eyes jerking around. He made to draw back a step, but Thor held still his wrist. 

“I don’t,” Loki paused, wetting his lips, “I don’t understand. I don’t remember how…” He swallowed, throat working convulsively. He picked at his leathers, fingers sliding into damaged areas, coming out bloody. He looked up at Thor, then, eyes dark and huge when he said, “Oh, I think I’m--”

His eyes rolled back in his head, all the warning Thor got before Loki went limp. Fortunately, Thor stood close; he swore, grabbing Loki, as best he could with one functional arm. Loki’s breath panted against his neck as Thor held him, surrounded by the dead, his thoughts racing along as he considered all that had happened.

He shifted, eventually, adjusting his grip to pull Loki over his shoulder, where he could be carried. He found the lines of the Aesir not far away, grouped together, waiting with curiosity written across their features.

Thor delivered Loki to the healer’s tents.

Even as he stepped inside, already he heard whispers spreading through the camp, the word berserker passed from warrior to warrior, echoing the realization in Thor’s mind.

#

The healers of the Aesir knew their craft well. They saw to Thor’s shoulder, mending the damage to muscles and tendons, but Thor barely noticed. His attention stayed on Loki, who had taken several grave injuries, it seemed, and lost much blood.

Healers fussed over him, cleaning away the blood, bearing away bowls of water stained red, passing their hands over damaged flesh. Thor watched it all. He was not the only one. The entirety of the camp seemed to pass in front of the tent, glancing in, murmuring to one another.

Thor could not fault them, not really. Berserkers were rare, unseen in his life. Odin’s line - his line - had a history of experiencing the strange affliction, if affliction it was. When they had been young, Thor had playacted at being taken by the battle-rage often enough, after all.

To see it expressed in Loki, though. Thor did not know what to make of it. It should have been, in any sensible world, him, but…

But it was not, and the realization left a strange tightness in his gut, not eased yet when Loki stirred about on his bed, blinking at the ceiling. Thor rose and went to him, touching his shoulder, just in case. He asked, “Feeling better?”

Loki’s gaze slid over to him, green eyes clear once more. “Yes,” he said, sitting, careful of the healing wounds over his body. He said, head tilting to one side, “It really happened, then? It was not just a dream?”

“Not unless we dream still,” Thor said. He gazed down of Loki, looking at healing injuries and thinking of the danger that slept there, under his skin, this strange new aspect of his brother that he had seen only briefly. He shifted a little closer. “What was it like?”

Loki had to crane his neck back to meet Thor’s gaze. Their legs touched. He shook his head, an unhappy twist to his mouth. “I don’t--the last memory I have was following you, as you strayed from the lines. You were hurt…” He frowned, eyes going distant. “And then we were alone in a field, and everything hurt, and…” He waved a hand, refocusing on Thor. “What did I do?”

Thor swallowed, memories playing out behind his mind, no longer so unnerving, now that he was a few hours removed. He could look back now, and appreciate the efficient brutality of the attacks. There had been no flair to Loki’s actions. There’d been no room for it. He said, “You struck down all that stood before you.”

Loki laughed, sharp and cut off quickly. “With a sword and an axe? That seems… Unlike me.”

Thor smiled. “It was.”

Loki’s mouth twisted then, into a frown. He reached out, almost touching Thor before he faltered. “I attacked you, didn’t I?

Thor shrugged. “You did, but it was not your fault.”

“Not my--”

“Loki,” Thor interrupted, softly as he could, squeezing Loki’s shoulder for emphasis. “Berserkers cannot help who they attack. And you did stop. You came back.” At Thor’s call, no less. Something about that sent a shiver down Thor’s spine that he had not the time to interrogate.

He felt Loki stiffen under his grip. Loki looked to the side and down, fingers curling into his fists. He said, “That’s, Thor, I’m not--that’s ridiculous, you cannot believe _I_ am--”

“I saw you with mine own eyes,” Thor said, remembering. “So too did Sif.” Loki only shook his head, neck bowed forward still. His spine curved, tight with tension. Thor swallowed, throat unusually dry, and said, “Come. We will eat and drink. You must be famished. We need not discuss any of this now.”

#

Apparently, everyone else in the camp was discussing the issue. Thor saw glances cut their way and heard whispers as they moved through the war camp, to the feasting tables. Loki walked with his chin up and his eyes forward and spoke little through their meal, even as the other warriors regaled one another with tales of their triumphs.

Perhaps the attention of the others around the banquet tent contributed to Loki’s reserve. Warriors and those serving them watched him with considering eyes, whispers and murmurs passing from one to the next. Loki ignored the lot of it, eating and drinking as a man famished, but that was what they said about berserkers, wasn’t it? That the madness left them half-starved, hungry to sate all their appetites.

Thor noticed that Loki had emptied his glass of mead - a strange occurrence on its own- and reached for the jug. He never had the chance to provide a refill, for one of his captains leaned down beside Loki, then, placing a full glass on the table by Loki’s hand. The man - tall and red-haired, with broad shoulders and a full-beard - bent close to Loki’s ear, saying something Thor could not make out, though he tried.

The words he said made Loki jerk, twisting his head to the side. The captain’s hand rested on Loki’s back, bold, and Thor shifted, a frown forming on his face.

Before he could speak, Loki grabbed the glass of mead and drained it, all in one long swallow, his throat working. He stared at the captain the whole time, and then nodded, set the glass down heavily, and stood.

The captain smiled, wide and crooked, his gaze focused on Loki. He put his hand low on Loki’s back, turning him, and Thor reached out, grabbing Loki’s arm. Loki looked down at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dark, mouth shining with mead. Thor asked, hoarse, “Where are you going?”

“To celebrate,” said the captain, pulling Loki a little closer, tucking him beneath an arm. And Thor could think of nothing to say, heat prickling under his skin. He could only nod and watch as they walked from the tent, his heart racing unnaturally fast in his chest.

Loki did not leave dinners to _celebrate_. In fact, he did not know Loki to _celebrate_ at all.

But, then again, they said about berserkers that they were near as ferocious in the bed chamber as they were on the battlefield. That they must needs seek out a partner to slake the last of the fire from their blood. Perhaps only Loki’s inexperience kept him from celebrating earlier, perhaps he had suffered for the past hours, need burning him from within while they all feasted around him, wishing that someone would approach and offer him aid.

Thor shifted in his chair, feeling heat crawling up the back of his neck. Abruptly, the air in the feasting tent felt too close, too warm. He pushed back from the table, jaw clenched tight enough that it ached.

The air outside the tent was cooler. Thor breathed it deep, his mind yet busy with thoughts of berserkers. What would it be like to risk such closeness, he wondered. He could imagine a--_a_ body, a figment of imagination, moving against his, muscles taunt and straining, slim wrists under his hands, gripped tight to maintain some reasonable level of control over the situation, or perhaps both wrists gripped in one hand, so his other hand could press between shoulder blades.

Thor did not realize how he stalked through the camp, thoughts winding and dark, until a group of the planet’s inhabitants, come to visit the war camp for the adventure of it, no doubt, called out to him. 

One of the women in the group was tall and pale-skinned, with dark hair and eyes that widened when Thor changed course to approach. He burned hot beneath his armor, aching when he smiled at her and offered out a hand.

It was a relief when she took it.

#

Thor slept poorly that night and woke with a curious ache in his chest. The woman from the night before had left already when he finally roused from sleep, leaving him alone to deal with the aftereffects of the dreams that had plagued him through the night, full of flashing eyes and sharp smiles, and--

And he dressed hurriedly, ignoring the heat in his gut and the demands of his body. It felt… improper, to do anything about it. His dreams had been confused things. Worrisome.

He set them aside to break his fast. They would need to march out after they ate. Already, the camp was being broken. They had not won the war, only a brief conflict. And they had no more time to recover.

He arrived in the feasting tent only just behind the red-headed captain who had left with Loki the night prior. A group gathered around him, their expressions like jackals. Of Loki, Thor saw no sign. He frowned, shifting his shoulders, listening to one of the gathered soldiers ask, “So, was it like in the stories?”

The captain laughed, shaking his head. He chided the group gathered around him, “Do you think me without honor? I do not discuss the activities of my bedroll. If you wish to know, find out yourselves.”

Thor’s fingers twitched up towards his palms. He shook out the fists, marching away from the group, putting their discussion from his mind. Loki, when Thor finally saw him, looked no different, no matter how Thor stared, wondering, thinking--

“What?” Loki demanded, finally, long after they broke their fast, as they traveled along roads unfamiliar to them both. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” Thor said, shaking his head, turning his face away. “No, I only wondered if you felt alright.”

“I’m fine,” Loki said. “Just tired.” And they spoke no more of the subject.

#

Loki got no chance to rest that evening, at least, not that Thor saw. A warrior Thor did not know personally appeared at his elbow before the meal even started, offering him out a glass of mead and a smile. 

Loki took it, surprise flitting across his expression; he was not usually offered drinks. Nor did Thor’s warriors usually lean down to murmur against his ear, sending a stain of red across his cheeks.

Thor expected Loki to decline… whatever was on offer. But he drank the mead, instead, and left the tent. Thor swallowed, appetite abruptly lessened, thinking that, apparently, what they said about berserkers _was_ true and--

And he did not taste his food, through the meal. 

#

On the second night of their march, Sif drained her mead, stood from the table, and marched over to Loki. She had, Thor recalled, as the pair of them wandered into the night, always been just as captivated by the old stories as he had.

In the morning, she looked rumpled and dazed. She did not argue at all during their morning debriefing. Thor thought perhaps they would go off together again that evening - they would be a good match, even Odin would approve - but Loki was swept off by someone else.

Thor glanced over at Sif, eyebrow raised, and she waved a hand at him. “I need a chance to recover, anyway,” she said, and laughed at whatever expression he wore on his face. “Don’t be so sour, Thor. We made no promises to each other, he does me no wrong. I just wanted to see what it was like.”

Thor almost asked _what it was like_. He could imagine dark hair, he wondered _how_ they had--- He shook his head, and said, clearing his throat first, “We near another encampment.”

“So we do,” Sif said, and sighed. “I suppose we should plan for that.”

#

Thor relished in the battle that they found the following day. It felt good to strike down all those that stood before him, to let free some of the frustration building inside his ribs every day. He lost himself to it, all thoughts of Loki -- of berserkers -- fleeing his mind.

He had peace, at least until Sif ran up to him, breathing hard, crying out, “You must come at once, it’s Loki.”

Thor cursed; Loki had planned to stay well back from the battle. He’d made that clear. Thor could not blame him, if he truly did not remember what had happened when he lost control. But battlefields often did not comply with well-laid plans, it seemed.

He followed Sif across broken ground; they had fought successfully, for the most part. She led him over bodies, around spots still shimmering with magic, to a field with a gathered crowd, Aesir warriors doing their best to grab hold of Loki without falling to the weapons he held.

Loki was surrounded by dead brigands - how had they even gotten behind the front lines? - and his expression was terrible and empty under the blood splattered across his skin. Thor swore once more, wading into the fray before someone could be injured or killed.

It was easier to snag Loki when he had other foes to focus on. Thor managed to grab him from behind, closing a hand around one of Loki’s wrists. He pulled Loki tight, back pressed to chest, feeling him squirm and thrash against the hold, his other arm pinned tight by Thor’s grip.

Loki snarled, jerking his head back, striking skull to Thor’s mouth, flooding blood down across Thor’s tongue as his teeth cut across his cheeks. He grunted, reaching up with his free arm, grabbing Loki’s hair, pulling his head back and realizing, abruptly, that Loki would jerk forward against it, tearing out his hair in the process if required.

Thor released his grip on Loki’s hair, cursing, scrambling, fingers curving against cheek and jaw and throat, holding as hard as he dared. 

Loki squirmed against him, thrashing, but Thor had always had more strength of the pair of them. He held tight, listening to Loki pant against his ear, Loki’s pulse racing against his fingers, bodies pressed together from head to foot.

“Loki,” he said, his voice hoarse from the struggle, “peace, peace, the battle is over.”

Loki jerked, trying to twist his wrist free of Thor’s grip. He was bleeding, injured somewhere. The hot wet of it was soaking back through Thor’s armor. He needed tending. He needed back in his own head.

The other Aesir were beginning to creep closer, hands extended. Loki caught sight of one and his struggles redoubled. He drew up a leg and slammed his heel into Thor’s knee, fast and vicious, knocking the leg out. Thor grunted, and bore them both to the ground in a tumble.

They scrambled at one another, but Loki, he thought, had lost a lot of blood. And he’d gone down beneath Thor. Thor shoved him flat, grabbing an arm and twisting it back and up, between his shoulder blades. He pressed Loki’s other wrist to the ground, weight settled across Loki’s hips, and snapped to the others, “Stay back, curse you!”

They stayed back. Small mercies.

Loki struggled beneath him, and Thor panted, “Please, Loki, stop. It’s alright. It’s over. You know me. Please.” For a time he thought it would not work, that he would be forced to strike Loki upon the head and pray that, when he woke, he would be himself once more, but after a moment Loki shuddered all over and blinked.

The tension went out of him all at once, only to return, slightly lessened. He twisted his head as best he could, looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and startled when he slurred, “Thor? What--what are you doing?”

Thor looked down at him and shuddered, rolling quickly to the side. “You,” he waved a hand, shifting his armor. “You were lost, for a moment.”

Loki sat, covered in blood and dirt, his hair a tangled mess; his bloody chest showed through a laceration in his armor. “Ah,” he said, blinking across at the crowd surrounding them. “Well. That explains it.” And then he went over backwards, leaving Thor to curse and scramble for him.

#

“You dislocated my shoulder,” Loki complained, later. It was the first thing he said when he joined Thor in the feasting tent, apparently released from his stay with the healers. His hair was still wet from the baths.

“You have my apologies,” Thor said, looking sideways across at him.

Loki cast him a frown, and stole a glass of mead from Thor’s hand. “This is a very inconvenient affliction,” he said. “I don’t care for it at all.”

Thor found he cared little for it, either, when a gruff-voiced man drew Loki away only moments later, off into the night. Thor scowled at his empty cup, and shook his head harshly when a serving girl came around to refill it

#

And so it went, through the rest of their campaign. The soldiers toasted Loki and boasted of those he struck down and took him off, at some point in the night, to their tents, leaving Thor alone with an increasing weight in his stomach, wondering what they did, what it was like, how--

Thor disliked it all. He wished the discussions and assignations would stop. Surely that would allow his mind to clear from the strange thoughts that had taken up dwelling in his mind. He did not get his wish, there was nothing but effusive praise until one of his men, a scowling veteran who had long disliked Loki, leaned back in his chair over a feast and said, “You are all fools, buying into an obvious lie.”

“Excuse me?” Loki asked, lifting his head from where he’d been bent over his plate; he never seemed to know what to do with the attention of the surrounding warriors. 

“You’re no berserker,” the soldier said, shaking his head. “It’s just another of your games.”

Loki stared up at him, one eyebrow rising smoothly. “That’s quite an accusation,” he said.

The soldier snorted. “Oh, it was a good effort, I’ll give you that. But it’s convenient, isn’t it, how you’ve not taken a deadly injury? How you always manage to pull back before you injure any of the Aesir? You’re a fraud and a liar. These fools are all just too besotted by the idea to see it.”

Loki watched him, unblinking, head tilted to the side, and then he shrugged. “Believe what you want,” he said, and Thor, who had felt doubt growing in his chest for a moment - Loki _did_ lie, and well at that - felt it dissolve back to nothing.

Had he not held Loki twice while he was in a fit? Had he not seen Loki’s willingness to tear his own hair out, to keep fighting, no matter what? And was it not fortunate for all of them that he could bring Loki back from the red haze of fighting?

“You’re just jealous he won’t go to bed with you, old man,” another soldier said.

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Loki shot back, and the crowd laughed, tension diffusing all at once. 

“I do,” Hogun said, cutting through the crowd and extending out his hand, an offer in the tilt of his head. “For you’re spoken for tonight.” Loki smiled up at him and took his hand.

#

They continued like that, the tension in Thor’s spine growing worse, throughout another battle, and another, where Loki stayed well back from the fighting. Thor began to hope that it would merely be a factor they had to consider going forward, keeping Loki away from physical violence, and then they were ambushed in the middle of the night by the brigands.

They came upon the camp from all side, sentries slaughtered before they could raise an alarm. Thor woke from a sleep full of pale skin and shuddery breathes to screams in the air and ran from his tent, Mjolnir already in hand.

There was no time to think. Already, soldiers moved through the camp, stabbing into tents, crying out, sowing confusion and death. Thor moved to meet them, bellowing for his army to rise, to fight.

The Aesir responded quickly, but it was difficult to turn the tide of such a battle. Thor could not find it within himself to feel true surprise when he was ringed in by brigands, all of them armed with shimmering pikes. He snarled at him, worries about Loki pushed aside for a moment.

It was, of course, then, that two blades slid through the chest of one of the brigands, jerked out quickly. The man fell, his legs kicking out at nothing as he died. Loki stood where he had fallen, bare-chested, holding two swords in his hands, breathing hard as he charged forward.

Thor scrambled to help - Loki had no armor - striking down warriors, pulse banging against his ears, needing--

A soft, wet sound snagged his attention, terribly. He jerked around in time to watch one of the pikes cut across Loki’s stomach, clean and smooth, a terrible wound. A killing wound. Loki seemed not to notice it, beheading the man who’d dealt it and moving forward, even as _things_ spilled from him and--

Thor grabbed him by the arm. Loki turned on him, snarling, arm coming up, and Thor struck him across the face, as hard as he dared, relieved when Loki went limp all at once, eyes rolling back. He sank to his knees, gathering Loki up, hearing the battle raging. He looked to the sky and begged, “Heimdall! Heimdall, I need--”

#

Heimdall brought them home, home to Asgard, directly to the healer’s quarters. Thor was vaguely aware that it was daytime in Asgard, the sun shining in across his shoulders as he knelt on the floor, Loki bleeding out in his arms.

He yelled for help, but the healers were already there, three of them lifting Loki away. Thor rose to follow as they carried him off and almost slipped in the blood pooled across the tiles. His hands and arms and chest were covered with it. It was too much. Too much.

He shook his head, taking another step, and the light of the Bifrost swallowed him, depositing him back on the battlefield. He cried out in frustration, pushed quickly to the side.

He could do nothing to help Loki back in Asgard. He knew that, logically. And the brigands needed dealt with. There were so many of them, running rampant. Murderous, cowardly, brutes. Thor snarled, a straight-forward passage to releasing his rage opening in front of him. He called Mjolnir to hand.

He laid waste to all before him, until nothing else moved.

#

Sif found him, in the wastes of their burning camp. She approached slowly, asking, “Thor? Where is--where’s Loki?” Others followed behind her, the survivors of the attack making their way to him.

“On Asgard,” he said, staring at nothing, intent on stopping his mind from replaying memories he never wanted to consider again. 

She hesitated. “Is he…?”

“They gutted him,” Thor said, looking up and over at her. He saw the veteran at her shoulder and held the man’s gaze, fury twisting at his mouth. “And he kept trying to kill them. If the healers cannot put him to rights, I will…” He could not find the words to say. He did not know what he would do.

He had already killed those responsible. Sif came closer, reaching out to grip his shoulder. “You should go and check on him,” she said. “We’ve reason to believe this was the last of the brigands, their last, desperate attempt to beat us.”

Thor nodded. He found he did not care. “I leave you in charge, then,” he said, turning away from her, calling for Heimdall once more.

#

Loki yet lived, Thor discovered. He sagged when the healers delivered the news, gripping at the wall. His recovery was not a sure thing, it seemed, but there was a chance he would make it. Thor nodded at the words, accepting direction to a chair, where he sank down, bent over, and rested his elbows on his knees.

He did not stir until the familiar smell of Frigga’s perfume roused him. He looked up to find her waiting in the doorway. “Thor,” she said, her voice cracking as she came to him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, though he was covered with filth.

He held onto her and said, “They say he may make it.”

She nodded, stroking her hand back over his hair. “So I have been told,” she said. “What happened?”

Thor did not want to speak of it, but he could not refuse her. He swallowed around the bitter taste in his mouth and prised the words free, lining them up one after another. She stiffened when he told her of Loki’s affliction, and he said, “I know, it was a surprise to me as well.”

She said, slowly, “Thor, that is--” She hesitated, and then continued, carefully. “Tell me the rest.”

So he did. And when he had finished, she was quiet for a long, long time. She said, finally, “I must go speak with your father.”

He nodded. He did not know why Odin had not joined them already, but perhaps some other matter required all of his attention. Thor was too tired to care. He bent his head again when she left, eyes open because he feared what he would see if he closed them.

#

Thor fell asleep sitting. He did not intend to, but exhaustion snuck up upon him. He woke to the feeling of someone entering his space and snapped his eyes open to find a healer before him, twisting her hands, expression set in deep discomfort. “My lord,” she said, “he’s asking to see you.”

Thor blinked, thoughts gone slow and groggy. “Who?”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Prince Loki,” she said, and Thor was out of his chair in an instant, ignoring the tinges of pain from his back.

“Where is he?” he asked, already walking forward, leaving her to scramble to keep up and guide him forward.

She led to him a private healing chamber, where Loki lay reclined on pillows, bare-chested still, wrapped in bandages from his ribs to his hips. “Thor,” he said, shifting a bit, smiling, “you’re alright.”

“I’m--” Thor laughed, crossing the room in a blink, touching Loki’s hair, his shoulder, his hand, the physical touch proving that he lived. “I did not have my gut opened.” Loki winced, looking away, and Thor squeezed his hand. “You frightened me,” he said. “I thought--”

“I’m fine,” Loki said, glancing up. “The healers say I’ll make a full recovery if I do not exert myself overmuch. How went the battle?”

Thor waved a hand. The battle felt ages ago. “Loki--”

Someone cleared their throat behind Thor. He turned, raising an eyebrow at the palace guards standing in the doorway. They both sketched quick bows. “My lords,” one said, stepping forward, “your presence has been requested by the King.”

Thor sighed. No doubt he deserved a lecture for leaving the battlefield so abruptly. He squeezed Loki’s hand one last time. “I’ll return shortly,” he said, “and we can discuss--”

“I’m sorry,” the guard interrupted, looking mortified. “I believe you misunderstand me. The King requests to see Loki.”

Thor scowled over at them. “That is not possible right now.” Loki needed to rest. Thor could still see his flesh parting, the fall of--

“It’s fine,” Loki said, sitting with a little grimace. “Thor can help me.”

#

Loki pulled a robe on over his shoulders, straightened it, and winced with his first step. Thor shuddered and grabbed his arm. Loki asked, “What?” but by that point Thor had already lifted him, carefully as he could.

“This is ridiculous,” Loki complained, as Thor carried him down the halls.

“Just enjoy it,” Thor told him, ignoring the looks they received as they made their way through the winding halls, all the way to Odin and Frigga’s chambers. The guards bowed again outside the door, and Thor entered with a frown.

He could not remember the last time he’d been in Odin and Frigga’s rooms. Certainly it had been years, since they were both children.

Odin and Frigga both waited inside. “Father,” Thor said, as the door shut at his back. “Mother, I am pleased to see you.”

“I’d bow,” Loki said, from his arms. “But.”

“We understand,” Frigga said, smiling, strain around her eyes. She gestured at one of the fine couches in the room. “Thor, please, he can sit there.” Thor frowned. There was a strange tension in the room, one that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He ignored it, bearing Loki over to the couch and helping him settle.

Loki smiled at him, arranging his robe, and Thor felt his mouth quirk up in automatic response.

“And now you may go,” Odin said, wiping the smile away as quickly as it came. Thor straightened, turning to frown at them.

“What?” he asked. “But--”

“We have something to discuss with Loki,” Odin said, not looking at either of them. He stared out a window, giving them his back. 

Thor glanced down at Loki, who had stiffened against the couch. The conversation must be about… all that had happened on their campaign. About his status as a berserker. It had slept in their bloodline, for so long. Thor wondered, with a sudden chill, what it meant for the disposition of the throne.

Loki did not look pleased by the prospect of the discussion, in any case. He reached up, gripping Thor’s forearm, and said, “That’s alright. Anything you would say to me you can say to Thor, as well.”

Frigga grimaced, turning to the side. Odin sighed from the windows. He said, “Very well. I suppose he will hear about it soon enough, anyway.”

Thor’s pulse accelerated. He asked, nerves clanging with alarm, “Mother? Father? What’s going on?”

Odin turned to look at them, finally. He seemed to have aged a millennium while they were away. He looked from Thor to Loki, and said, “I have heard that you claim to suffer from the berserker affliction.”

Loki frowned, chin coming up. “I’ve claimed nothing,” he said. “I don’t even remember--”

“Do not lie to me,” Odin interrupted, walking over to a table by the window and pouring a large glass of mead. Thor looked from one person in the room to the next, deeply confused.

He said, carefully, “He isn’t lying. I have seen, with mine own eyes--”

“You have seen a well-executed trick,” Odin said, and took a deep drink from his cup. He scowled over at the far wall. “Loki is not a berserker.”

Loki laughed, a sharp, barking sound. He jerked to his feet, the movement drawing attention to his body, to the injuries scattered across his flesh, tended to as best as could be done by the healers in their hall. “It was difficult for me to accept as well,” he said, “but I have had to, and so must you, I--”

“Only the Aesir experience this affliction,” Odin interrupted, turning his head, looking to the side. Thor frowned at him and then back to Loki.

“What?” Loki asked, a nervous smile on his mouth. “So? I am--”

“You are not,” Odin said, dropping the words like stones. The bottom of Thor’s stomach dropped out. He did not know who to look at, Odin, with his face turned aside, or Loki, gone wide-eyed and ghost-pale, or Mother, staring at Loki with her hands balled into fists, or--

Loki laughed, shaky. “Of course I am. I know you have always been unsatisfied with me, but to--”

“You are Jotun,” Odin said, speaking to the wall. “A foundling. I discovered you, abandoned, and brought you here to raise and--”

And he spoke further, but Loki swayed alarmingly, color growing yet worse, and Thor jerked forward to grab him, worried he would collapse. He did not know why Odin made such claims - they could not be true, not really. Loki gripped at him, fingers digging in like claws, his skin cold as ice itself.

“No,” Loki said, his voice quaking. “No, you’re--Mother, why is he lying?”

Frigga took a step forward, hand extended, and in her expression Thor saw regret and grief. Loki must have seen it as well; he made a terrible, injured wound and recoiled, pushing his back against Thor’s chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Frigga said, taking another step. “I’m so sorry, you must understand--”

“I must understand I am not Aesir?” Loki demanded, his voice cracking. He laughed, shaky and wet. He trembled in Thor’s grip. “I must--you knew? You knew and did not--Thor?” He twisted to look up, his eyes huge and dark in his pale face. “Thor, did you also--”

“No!” Thor shook his head and saw something like relief lance through Loki’s expression. “No, I would have--I knew nothing, I swear to you.”

“I know this is upsetting to you,” Frigga said, closer. Loki flinched. Thor drew him back a step, the movement automatic, instinctual. Frigga’s expression dropped. “We meant to tell you,” she said, “as you grew older, we meant to, please. Please, let us talk.”

“What more is there to say?” Loki asked, he laughed again, but there were wet tracks down his cheeks. “You all deride me for being the god of lies, but you made me of lies. Is it any surprise?” He twisted then, against Thor’s grip, snapping, “Leave me go, I can’t--I can’t be here.”

“Sh,” Thor said, because he did not think he could stand to be there any longer, either, and turned. Frigga called out to them, but Thor had already shoved the door open, already lifted Loki into his arms, and strode off down the hall, his mind full of sound and fury.

#

They made their way through the palace. Thor cut a straight path to the nearest window, curled an arm around Loki, and threw them both into the air. His head felt full of noise and madness. He needed someplace quiet to go, someplace peaceful, someplace where they would be left alone, at least for a time.

He did not intend to alight atop the old, forgotten tower where they’d spent of much of their youth play-acting at being fierce warriors, clever sorcerers, and just rulers. But it was a good place. He carried Loki down the spiral stairs into the lower chamber, walked to the far wall, and sat.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. 

Thor found his voice first. He scowled and asked, his voice thick and choked, “But why… why lie? Why pretend to this affliction?”

Loki laughed, a barking sound without any joy to it. He smiled up at Thor with tears still on his cheeks and said, “Because I killed as many soldiers as you did - more - and no one cared. No one cared, because I did not do it _properly_, because I…” he gestured, smile falling away as his eyes went distant.

“So,” he said, swallowing, “so I thought I would show you. Show all of you that I could fight that way, too, and I--I killed fewer people, Thor! But everyone praised me, do you… do you understand? I have never been toasted before, warriors have never come to slap my shoulders, and I-I meant to tell you all, to show you how foolish you all were but…”

He trailed off, then, dropping his head. His shoulders shook. The bandage low on his gut was stained almost completely red.

“Loki…” Thor said, unsure what to say, what to do, to make any of this right. He pushed Loki’s hair back, trying to wipe the tears off his cheeks, murmuring nonsense sounds to soothe him, but it was for naught.

Loki could not be comforted, not even as Thor’s thoughts spiraled inward, a lightning strike of relief through his guts. All his imaginings, all his thoughts, they were not--not so terrible as he had thought. Loki was not his-- There was-- They could--

Thor shifting forward, a mad plan unfolding in his mind. He gripped Loki’s shoulders, and said, “Come away with me.”

Loki glanced up, he looked blank in his grief. “What?” he asked, and his voice was a hoarse croak. It was not the ringing endorsement Thor might have hoped for, but that mattered little. Already his thoughts ran ahead, assuring him that this plan was good and sound.

“Come away with me,” he repeated. “Let us leave this place, find adventure, just the two of us, away from any lies or half-truths.”

Loki stared, slack-faced. There were still tears running, unheeded, down his cheeks. He asked, “You want to… run away?”

“Yes,” Thor said, squeezing his shoulders. “Yes, just like we said we would when we were children.” He smiled, trying to make Loki see the perfection of the solution. “Why delay any longer? Let us go, let us see all the universe has to offer.”

“But…” Loki blinked, some life coming back into his expression. “But you must stay, you are Odin’s only--”

“I must do nothing,” Thor said, leaning a little closer, cupping Loki’s face. “Come with me, we can leave at once, we can go anywhere you want.” 

He stood, sliding his grip to Loki’s hands, bringing him along. Excitement hummed along his veins along with a great sense of rightness. This was correct, he knew it. It was what he must do.

“But--”

“No buts,” Thor said, shaking his head. “You don’t want to remain here, do you?”

Loki blinked again, fresh agony washing over his expression as he twisted his face to the side. “No,” he said, flat and agonized, “I suppose I do not.”

“So we won’t. There must be millions of things to see. Let us go see them all.”

Loki glanced back up at him. “You mean it,” he said, and there was something besides pain in his voice. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Thor said, gripping his upper arms, his excitement a ball in his gut. And he leaned in, then, and kissed Loki, the way he had wanted to do since—since at least the first time he had thought Loki a berserker, the way that had haunted his dreams over the past weeks, setting a terrible ache within him.

He pulled back after but a moment. Loki stared up at him, wide-eyed, pale-cheeked. “What are you doing?” Loki asked, voice small.

Thor laughed, the sound punched from him. “What I have feared to do for too long,” he said, stroking Loki’s cheek. “What I knew to be right as a child. I always meant to marry you. I always meant to take you to the stars. Let us go. It will be a grand adventure, the two of us, going wherever we will, doing whatever we wish.”

Loki searched his expression. He said, after a moment, slowly, like he was trying to feel his way through a problem, like he was struggling to keep up with Thor, which left a delightful feeling in Thor’s chest. Perhaps Loki felt like that most of the time; it would explain a lot. “Heimdall will never agree,” Loki said, finally.

Thor shrugged. “I am not a fool,” he said. “I know you come and go as you will. Take me along, let us go visit all of the realms and all of the myriad worlds beyond.”

Loki stared at him for a long moment longer. And then something in his posture relaxed. “Alright,” Loki said, and looked almost surprised to hear the word issuing from his mouth. “Alright, yes.”

“Yes,” Thor said, beaming back, pleased beyond measure that Loki’s tears had stopped, that they had a clear way forward, something to do to make this better, to fix it all. He leaned back down, taking another kiss, and this time Loki kissed him back, thorough and so filthily that Thor groaned into it.

“Where should we go first?” Loki asked, when Thor shifted back.

Thor shrugged. “You pick,” he said.

Loki looked at him, then. And he smiled, cautiously, and reached up to rest his hands on Thor’s shoulders. “Keep a hold of me,” he said, and Thor tightened his grip - he never planned to let go, not now, forget Asgard and all the wars to be fought, all the lies, everything - and the world dissolved into smoke and flashes of light.

They went, the two of them, out into the galaxy.


End file.
